


Bleak Hospital Walls

by Two_Two_1b



Series: The Walls Series [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Lestrade's gets shot, M/M, No Sex, PTSD, Panic Attacks, There is a case, mentions of Daddy KInk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Two_1b/pseuds/Two_Two_1b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is injured during a case and is rescued due to John's quick help, but has to stay at the hospital. John may physically be unscathed, however, he has a nightmare at 221B. He starts crying for his Da or Daddy. Unable to calm him down, Sherlock calls Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleak Hospital Walls

**Author's Note:**

> DADDY KINK! In light of a recent comment, here are ONLY CONSENTING ADULTS! They only pretend to be Jonny and Sherly, in reality they are adults. NO UNDERAGE or anything. It's called roleplay... It may be better to start reading this at the beginning with Light Yellow Walls.
> 
> This is for Suse, my lovely lovely beta and listener to my rants and general weirdness and for those people who wanted to know more about the relationships outside the flat. I hope you're somewhat satisfied. This was hard. Seriously. I was very unhappy with the first draft, but my beta helped to make this better. It now has over 3500 words. To compare the first draft had roughly 1500.

John was pacing the waiting room. He cursed at the bleak hospital walls, muttering about stupid hospital regulations. He just wanted to know if Greg was okay, but the nurse had refused to tell them anything about Greg's condition since he had arrived at the hospital. They all had been on the case of a serial killer. At first, Sherlock had been gleeful, the killer leaving hardly any clues, which led to him, but a ton of things to observe, deduce and experiment on.

He had deposited his victims at different places, each staged in an elaborate way. The first one was discovered on the top floor of the construction site of an expensive apartment building. Ropes had held a young woman, an aspiring model, aloft in the room. From the ropes, the killer had draped expensive jewellery, clothes, shoes and other women's accessories as well. The victim, too, was clothed in expensive linens, her make-up done to perfection. On the bare concrete walls of the room were pictures of eligible bachelors, among them were royalty, famous actors and very successful entrepreneurs. The whole scene looked more like an art exhibit than a crime-scene as did the ones that followed.

Lestrade immediately had called Sherlock in, who had started to spew deductions and theories at them. However, Sherlock soon found himself stumped as the rest of them. The next victim was discovered a week later, this time it was a man. He was found in a hotel-room and was clothed in black leather pants, a whip was in his hands. Sex-toys of all kinds were arranged around the victim and the killer had brought red light bulbs and drawn the curtains, turning the light in the room to a shady mysterious red. Again Sherlock was called in, but he could not find any clues leading to the killer. He was very careful not to leave any evidence, none of the CCTV-cameras had caught anyone suspicious in the area around the hotel. The room had been the victim's, a serial adulterer, who had been with a prostitute before the murder occured. The woman had been found, but she had left the room before the estimated time of death.

Sherlock was getting more and more agitated. Another victim was discovered a week later. Several body parts of the victim had been found in the display shelves of a bakery. The man was overweight, his head lay atop a cake-platter, and his hands were on the counter, where usually the baker deposited his brownies, cookies and other pastries. His feet lay on the shelved behind the counter that previously had held loafs of bread. The body parts were arranged as real baking goods would have been.

Finally, Sherlock linked the scenes to the seven deadly sins. The first one greed, the second lust and now gluttony. When the rest of the body was discovered in a dumpster on the other side of town, Sherlock was positively thrilled. The murderer had made a mistake and Sherlock found traces of washing powder and lint on the victim's remains. It was the kind usually used in large factories that cleaned towels and sheets for large hotels or hospitals. He had been able to determine the washing-powder and the fabric that the lint came from. With these results he had been able to link the murder to a certain factory.

While Sherlock deduced the factory as the killer's workplace, he didn't expect John and Lestrade to find their man in the basement. Busy setting up the next scene already having done his next kill. The pair had walked down to the basement, upon arrival they noticed the sand on the floor. In the corner of the room, someone had deposited a large amount of sand, a sun-lounger and a plastic palm-tree had been set upon it. Before either could say something a man dressed in black came out of an adjoining room, his arms full with bath towels, a beach ball and glasses.

The murderer froze, dropped his things and before either John or Lestrade could react, had pulled a gun from his back pocket. John started to move to push Lestrade away, but in the same moment a warm heat wave from an air-circulation vent hit him square in the face. Surrounded by heat and sand, John suddenly felt himself catapulted back to Afghanistan and he froze momentarily. Before he could react again, he heard a shot and then a gasp Lestrade, who stood right next to him. John watched with wide eyes as Gregory went to the ground, hitting his head on the concrete step behind them.

The flashback of Afghanistan had re-awakened the soldier in John and he attacked the killer, who had fired twice more, fortunately not hitting anything besides the wall. John's military training kicked in and soon he had the killer overpowered, hitting him hard over and over again. Donovan and Sherlock, who had heard the gunshots, came running into the basement. Instead of helping her boss, though, Sally pulled John off the murderer, who used the ensuing chaos to bolt. Donovan followed him, because Sherlock, who had gone over to check on Lestrade, had shouted that the fleeing man was the murderer.

John, on the verge of a panic attack because of his PTSD, pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide while he scaned the room. Sherlock noticed, of course, and yelled for John and his medical training.

"John? John! I need your help. Come on John!" That didn't work, John was still panicking until Sherlock barked: "CAPTAIN WATSON, MAN DOWN! NEEDS IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION!" That snapped the doctor out of it and he lurged into action. Gregory had come to when Sherlock had reached him, but he was dazed and a little disoriented. Using the consulting detective's shirt and jacket, Sherlock and John stopped the bleeding on his arm and head somewhat and soon he was out of the basement and in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.

Sherlock and John followed in a cab, the doctor slowly came back to reality during the ride. After his panick attack had faded, he concentrated on the streets they were passing. He tried not to worry. Lestrade had already been awake. That was a good sign for the head-wound and the gun-wound was a mere graze. It had bled a lot, but not life-threatening so. He concentrated on Donovan, who came back empty-handed, but had found another body. The fourth victim of the Vindicator of God. That nickname had been invented by the press, when it came apparent, that he displayed the seven deadly sins.

Sherlock, on the other hand, went through every detail of the case, searching for the mistake he'd made. He should have known the factory would be his next room for his victim. He should have been more careful. He would have to go back to the factory in order to see if there would be any clues to the killer's whereabouts. He had shortly seen the man, but could not deduce much. The man definitely worked with his hands, like a joiner or roofer.

In the hospital, the nurse had refused to tell them anything, stating that she had to wait for his next-to-kin to arrive. His next-to-kin was Mycroft, whom Sherlock had called from the cab. Greg had changed it after Mycroft and he had been together for eight months. He preferred to have Mycroft called first, not his sister or the Yard, since he trusted his partner to make the right decisions in an emergency.

In the waiting-room John was still pacing, while Sherlock had sat down. Mycroft joinged them soof after, who had spoken to the nurse before entering the waiting room. The nurse had told him, that Gregory had a minor concussion and that his bullet graze was currently treated. He had only a minor concussion. The doctor would tell him the rest.

Said doctor stepped into the room thirts minutes later. Gregory was indeed okay. He was currently sleeping and would have to stay in the hospital for 48 hours. Mycroft could visit his room, if he wanted to, but John and Sherlock were sent home.

The cabride back to 221B was quiet, each of them lost in their own heads. Once seated in their respective chairs, they stayed silent until they started talking at the same moment.

"It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known he would be there and armed," John stated.

"Don't reproach yourself, John. Nothing of what happened with Lestrade, was your fault," Sherlock said calmly.

They laughed a little at their attempt to reassure the other that it wasn't their fault, but then fell right back into silence.

Usually they talked and talked after a case, high from the adrenaline and the rush. This time, however, there was none of that. They had been in dangerous situations before, but none of them had to be taken to the hospital then. What had happened that day, made them aware of their vulnerability and their mortality. After an hour of silence, John sighed. He got up, bid Sherlock a good night and went upstairs. While he undressed he could hear the tunes of Sherlock's violin downstairs. He fell asleep to the sound of it.

Sherlock was still playing a couple of hours later. He was thinking, going through the cases. He concentrated on the case, rather than Lestrade at the hospital. It was a little past midnight, when he heard the first noises from his flatmate's room. He went upstairs, but hesitated to enter the room. They may share a room and even a bed as Jonny and Sherly, but they had both kept some of their privacy in Baker Street.

They were the best of friends, something Sherlock thought he'd never have. Then Dr. John Watson had entered his life and found a place in it as easily as breathing. Their friendship had only deepened after Jonny had joined Sherly. There was a sheer unbelievable amount of trust between them, an understanding of each other on levels deeper than any other relationship they had ever had before. Yet, physical intimacy eluded them. Therefore Sherlock hadn't often entered his flatmate's room. He barged into anything concerning the doctor's life, but his room was unmistakably John's and John's alone. Sherlock conceded to this because he, too, preferred to have his room in Baker Street to himself.

When he heard a loud whimper from the other side of the door, he threw his doubts aside and entered. His eyes fell on the bed where John was writhing as if in pain. He was having a nightmare and Sherlock immediately tried to wake him. As soon as he touched John, however, he was attacked. He should have known better than touching an ex-soldier, who had been diagnosed with PTSD, while he was having a nightmare.

Sherlock struggled free and began shouting for John to wake up. Finally, his words made it through and John looked at him with wide scared eyes. A second passed and then John started to cry. He whimpered and big tears fell from his eyes.

Those weren't the cries of John, he was crying as little Jonny instead. So Sherlock approached Jonny carefully. He sat on the bed next to him and wrapped his arm around Jonny.

"Shh, Jonny," he whisperd. "Shhh. Everything is alright."

But Jonny sobbed even more and cried for his Daddy and Da.

"Jonny. Daddy is at the hospital with Da. We can visit him tomorrow."

"Wanna see Da! Don't wanna wait. What if he's hurt badly? What if the doctor lied or made a mistake?" Jonny sobbed.

For ten minutes Sherlock held Jonny, trying to get him to calm down. After several fruitless attempts, he caved and did something he usually avoided. He called Mycroft. After a short talk on the phone, Mycroft agreed to come to Baker Street, reluctantly leaving his partner in the hospital. Greg was sleeping at the moment, but Mycroft had wanted to be there, if he woke.

Finally Mycroft arrived and Jonny flung himself into his arms. Mycroft stroked his head and murmured into the ear of his little boy.

"You did so good, baby boy. So well, Sherlock told me you saved Da. He's going to be alright. You saved him, he's sleeping now and tomorrow we can all go visit him."

Mycroft worried about Jonny. John had been on the brink of a panic attack today and his PTSD was causing him trouble. Now apparently his mind had decided it would be better off as Jonny and had catapulted him into play-mode. Seeing him like that immediately threw him into Daddy-mode as well. He cuddled and hugged Jonny. He had heard several recounts of what had happened in the factory and even though he wanted to be angry at John and Sherlock, nothing of what had transpired was their fault. Especially not John's, who not only overpowered the murderer, but had also expertly provided medical care for Gregory.

He had been frantic, when Sherlock called him. Gregory's and his relationship had developed over the past few months. Mycroft was ready for the next step and had hoped to ask Gregory to move in with him on their next date. Sherlock had already deduced this and had discussed this with his elder brother. Of course, Sherlock gave his consent, even though Mycroft had worried. However, his younger brother seemed very happy with the development and was glad Mycroft would no longer be alone. After all Sherlock had John in his daily life, even if it wasn't sexual. Sherlock also hadn't worried about their play-dates. He knew they all enjoyed them and wouldn't stop any time soon.

Slowly Jonny calmed and when the final tears had dried, John reappeared. He looked apologetic at Mycroft and Sherlock, who reassured him everything was alright. Sherlock made tea and they settled on the couch together, huddled under a blanket that had been given to John and Sherlock by Mrs. Hudson.

They fell asleep like that, but woke early. Too early to go to the hospital. Gregory was not awake anyway, they knew because Anthea was there with him on Mycroft's order. She was told to call, if Lestrade woke or needed anything. Since they didn't want to go back to sleep, Mycroft took them to a café that opened extra early. They ate breakfast and drank tea, but were soon too anxious and went to the hospital. Mycroft's power extended everywhere apparently and they could all visit Gregory, who had wakened shortly before, even though it wasn't quite six, yet.

When they arrived, Gregory was sitting in his bed, drinking a cup of water. He smiled at them and accepted a kiss from Mycroft and a hug from John. Sherlock just nodded and sat in the abandoned chair from Anthea, who had left upon their arrival.

"How do you feel, Greg?" John asked.

"Good. Bit of a headache and the arm trobs a little. But it'd take more than a little bullet to my arm to bring me down. Speaking of the bullet, I hope you got the bastard."

John looked away, uncomfortable. Sherlock rose and went to the bed.

"Unfortunately, the murderer could escape."

"What, why are you here then? I'm fine. Really. Go get him, you idiot. He might start killing innocent people again."

"John needed to see you and... and I wanted to see, if you're fine, too."

Greg looked surprised. Sherlock never showed much of his feelings. He knew he cared, but this was as good as an 'I love you' from the super sleuth. He smiled. "Well, I'm fine. Thank you very much for coming. You and John can go now and catch that bastard. Go, go, go." He shooed them out.

Still smiling he looked at Mycroft, who took his hand and said: "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mycroft. Anthea said, Sherlock called you, because of John. He looked fine, a little tired, but so do you and Sherlock. Everything alright again?"

Mycroft relayed what happened that night. Gregory was worried, but Mycroft reassured him. This had made an impact on all of them, but they would emerge from this fairly unscathed and stronger. In the night he had been thinking though. The older Holmes had had the idea of a vacation for Da, Sherly and Jonny a while back, but he had thought he would have time. This development, however, prompted him to take immediate action. While Gregory took a nap, he wrote several messages to Anthea. Since security was still a major issue, he asked her to look at private islands for sale. As soon as Gregory was healthy again and the murderer caught, he would proposition them with the idea of a vacation.

Meanwhile, John and Sherlock went back to the washing factory and then to the morgue. Armed with information, they went to the Met. Sally, who was immensely embarrassed that she had let the murderer escape, led them to a room where they could go look at the files of the victims. The second victim's house had been under renovations, meaning there were workers around. John pointed that out to Sherlock, who had shared his deductions about the killer's occupation earlier. It was a feeble connection, at best, especially since none of the victims had any repairs done to their homes. It was their only lead, though, so when they went to the house of the second victim, the grieving wife gave them all the contact information of the workers she had had employed. They had several contractors. The roof had been renewed, the wall had been painted and some of the windows had needed replacement.

Two of them checked out, none of them were their killer. The company responsible for the roof was large and hadn't willingly given Sherlock the information on who had worked at the victim's house. It prompted him to call Sally, who then called the company and got the information needed.

Several of the company's men had worked on the victim's house, but soon they actually came across their murderer. Also they could make a connection to the other victims. The flat the model had lived in a few months before had needed a roof replacement. Since then she had moved to another building. The other two victims' workplaces had also employed the roof repair company.

Togehter with Sally and a handful of officers, they finally could make the arrest the next day. Glad it was over and the killer had not yet found his fifth victim, Sherlock and John visited Lestrade in the hospital. He would be released that day, but John and Sherlock wanted to visit him there anyway.

Mycroft, ready to bring his lover, who had agreed to stay at Mycroft's large house on a permanent basis, home, smiled and congratulated them on closing the case. John and Sherlock told them about the details, while waiting for Lestrade to be discharged. Sherlock would have to go through evidence to ensure a conviction, even though he and Sally had identified the killer. There was also paperwork that needed Sherlock's and John's attention. Soon Sherlock and Mycroft started to bicker, but after stern glances from John and Greg they stopped.

Mycroft then proposed the vacation he had been thinking about. The night before Anthea had presented him with five eligible islands and he had decided on one. After some paperwork he soon would be owner of his own island in the Bahamas. John and Lestrade gaped, but Sherlock just rolled his eyes at Mycroft's blatant display of his wealth. They agreed to go as soon as Lestrade was deemed fit and his stitches came out.

Gregory was thankful for the vacation. Even though he was fine, being shot still had a large impact on his view of life. Life can be over so quickly and resolved in enjoying it to the fullest with the people he loved. John, too, was grateful. He knew he would be plagued by nightmares the next couple of weeks and was glad for an escape from them. Jonny hardly ever had nightmares about the war after all. Sherlock would just enjoy the three weeks with his family. He would never admit, that he, too, had been effected by this.

oOoOoOo

Five weeks later, on a Saturday morning, they all met at the airport. Mycroft had booked a private jet that would fly them to Marsh airport, from where they took a boat to their little island. John had finally resigne from his current job since Sherlock's private cases brought enough money in for them to live off. He also didn't have to worry about a girlfriend or dates any longer. He had had his last date about two months ago, after a dull evening and even duller sex, he had decided that he didn't need a woman in his life. Sherlock was his partner in the ways that really counted and he could find sexual fulfilment in their play-dates with Greg and Mycroft.

Mycroft had pulled some strings and Greg now had three weeks off as a result. Anthea would take over Mycroft's office during his time away. She was capable and Mycroft dreaded the fact that soon he had to let her go, in order for her to really start her promising career. Sherlock was self-employed, he could go on vacation whenever he wanted.

Finally, they arrived at the island. The previous owner had built a beautiful villa and as soon as they were there John and Sherlock changed clothes and they became Jonny and Sherly. They ran to their Daddies and would start their vacation with cuddling on the sofa, before exploring the house and its surroundings.

**Author's Note:**

> We resume to our usual pwp stories now. Upcoming are some stories that have been prompted. On the island I have now new walls to abuse as titles, if you'd like to see something, please comment. Comments of any kind are always apreciated.


End file.
